My eyes are fixed, as if they are glue opened, never to fall into the opiate sleep. After a while of staring into the darkness, they begin to hurt and plead for the rest they haven't gotten in years. But they will never rest as long as my body and soul never rests.
This is an unusual monument when I very calm. My molecules have stopped moving and the voices have shut up for a while. The screams are silent and the people of the world have left me alone for a while. The lights have disappeared and the world has slowed. My mind has blurred and my purpose and mission in life has become unimportant. But I know this monument won't ever last.
I lazily twirl my blade in my hand, the tip circling into he floor. I watch as the blade easily marks the floor, scarring it. Hurting something that has no defense. I let the knife drop from my hand and falls to the floor. I run my fingers over the small cut in the floor form said knife. The poor wood is injured and it had no way to protect itself.
Suddenly, sound of the world turned back on. The sounds of sobs and screams and yells echo from the underground rooms. The blackness of the room faded into the bright moonlight, revealing the many animals nailed to the wall. Hangman nooses hanging from the ceiling and knives sitting on hooks on the wall, shining with anticipation.
And my mind clears from its blurry previous self. My purpose was to rid the world of the scum that is currently alive and well. My mission is to show them the torture that they inflect on the people they've damaged. To torture them into believe they're wrong and to dispose of them afterwards.
I quickly pick up the blade on the floor and slide it between my boot and the leather straps on the boot. I pull myself off the floor, walking towards the blood stained wall and ran my fingers over the still wet walls. Still not done. I reach for the hooked knife on the wall next to this on and placed that on in my other boot.
With a blank face, I pull on my jacket, being alert of the many blades and knives in the pockets. The rough material of the headphones brush against my ears, but soon the soft sound of Beethoven fills my mind.
The door closes behind me and I head out in search of another nonbeliever.
Empty plot line. No real story, but I just wrote it Cos it was in my mind. Based on a picture I drew where he was holding a knife and looking mysterious. And this was what he was thinking about.
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